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I hated how much it pissed me off. I hadn’t been lying when I told Tristan I wasn’t even sure if we could be friends. He hadn’t just burned a bridge between us, he had blown up the ground it stood on, too.
So why did it sting so much to know he’d hooked up with someone right after we had that conversation?
No matter what I felt about him, it was hard not to feel a sense of awe as I watched him through the viewfinder on my camera. He had just thrown a touchdown and was running to the end zone with his helmet in his hand, pumping it over head as his teammates all jumped in celebration.
He looked like a king.
Like a god.
But I knew it was just an illusion. I’d seen the real Tristan. It didn’t matter if there was a softer side of him—the side that was good with kids and liked talking about essays, or the one that had brought me gardening tools and replaced the camera Cassian broke. Almost all of that still fit with my understanding of him. He wanted something, and he was simply doing whatever it took to get it.
A few minutes later, there was a pile of players on the ground at the end of a play. Cassian made his way toward the pile and reached to help Tristan up, but Cassian put his cleat on Tristan’s chest, pushing him back down before letting him up. Between the half a dozen other players all getting out of the pile, nobody on the field seemed to notice.
Tristan got to his feet, tearing off his helmet and swinging it by the facemask at Cassian. Yellow flags flew from the refs, and Tristan got one more swing toward Cassian before players from both teams broke them up.
I watched them get taken to the sideline and chewed out by their coach. He was yelling loudly enough that I could hear enough to know he didn’t believe Tristan’s side of the story. He motioned for Tristan to sit on the bench and gestured for Gage to go in at quarterback. Cassian discreetly flipped Tristan a middle finger before jogging back out to the field with the team.
I clenched my teeth, thinking about everything he had done to me. It would serve him right to let his coach go on thinking he had made it up. But all I’d need to do was get his coach’s attention and show him the few seconds of video.
With a sigh, I told Marne I’d be right back.
I went down as close as I could get to the bench and started yelling to get the attention of his coach. Eventually, he heard me. I showed him the few seconds of video and explained what I’d seen.
His coach went to Tristan, gestured to me, and seemed to be apologizing, if the many pats on Tristan’s shoulder pads were any indication. My stomach clenched when Tristan’s eyes met mine.
He got up and walked toward me, ignoring the few teammates who tried to get his attention along the way. I suddenly regretted helping him, because I knew what was probably going through his head. He’d think I was sending a mixed message—like I was just one of those girls who played games with guys’ heads. One minute, I’d say I wasn’t even sure we could be friends, the next I was coming to his rescue.
But Tristan was glaring when he put his hands on the fence in front of me. “What the fuck was that?”
I pulled my head back. Okay. Apparently, I still didn’t understand how Tristan’s messed up brain worked. Even if I hadn’t wanted him to thank me, I found myself pissed by his tone. “That was called ‘help.’ It’s this thing normal people do sometimes. They—”
“I don’t need your pity, Wheels. Next time, do us both a favor and stay out of it.”
My mouth hung open as I searched for appropriate words. There was ungrateful. There was obnoxious. And then there was Tristan, apparently.
He took a few steps backwards, eyes still locked on mine, then slid his helmet on and ran out on the field.
Marne slid in beside me. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “Smitten may not have been the most appropriate word. Well, unless you change the context. Like, ‘Tristan Blackwood probably would love to smite you with unholy wrath.’”
“Yeah. Maybe I need to go back to focusing on just finishing this stupid project and getting him out of my life.”
“Wasn’t that already your plan?”
I worked my lips to the side. “Yeah. Totally was.”18TristanI pulled in front of the house, stopping the car when I noticed a white note taped to the door. I got out and grabbed it.
It wasn’t my dad’s handwriting, but I knew he’d been the one to have it put there. The entirety of the note was a single, hastily written sentence.
